


You’ve been locked in here forever & you just can’t say goodbye

by Lothiriel84



Category: The Bunker (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:39:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Your lips,My lips,Apocalypse





	1. Chapter 1

They’ve been working at close quarters for nigh on twenty-four hours now, striving to fix yet another power failure before the sandstorm hits; they’re both jittery with a combination of frustration, resignation to their impending doom, and way too many coffees they’ve had to keep them going.

When the main generator unexpectedly whirrs back to life, just as the auxiliary power unit is coughing to a stop, Dave lets out a string of joyful expletives, his sudden bout of laughter verging on hysterical as he does something utterly unexpected. David’s exhausted brain is left to lumber in the uptake as he finds himself being yanked down, an insistent mouth latching onto his own as if trying to suck the oxygen out of his lungs. Still, they’re not dead, the lights, heating, and ventilation system are working properly again, and his mind momentarily draws a blank on the multiple, varied reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this.

(He’s vaguely reminded of the first time he thought Dave was attractive, back in his early days on the job; still, he was a happily married man back then, and he decides he’d rather not think about his dead wife, not while he’s doing – whatever the hell this is.)

Dave is fumbling with the buckle of his belt now, and that’s something he can get behind – giving himself something to do, rather than having to _think_ about anything at all. He returns the favour, his hands already itching with the muscular memory of doing this, with another man.

“Turn around for me, will you?” Dave grumbles at length, his voice hoarse with what he can only assume is a literal decade of repressed lust. He does as he’s told, the rational part of his brain mercifully quiet for a change; if all they achieve is to drown the voices in his head for just a little longer, then he’s all for it.

(It’s too much, and not enough, and they can hardly bear to look each other in the eye, afterwards. But that’s fine, he’s never been one for eye contact anyway. The next time the turbine generators break down, they both agree that Tom should go out and fix them, and they never speak of the incident ever again.)


	2. Chapter 2

“I – can’t do it. Dammit.”

Dave slowly lowers the gun, even as Jerry lets out another scream of agony. Surely putting the poor chap out of his misery is the humane thing to do, and sooner rather than later if they want to spare him at least some suffering; still, neither of his companions seems to have the guts to put a bullet through their friend’s head, no matter how desperately he’s begging them to do so.

“Oh, for Coke’s sake,” he snaps all of a sudden, snatching the blasted gun from Dave’s hand. The shot rings out across the empty plain, and the cries of pain stop almost abruptly; the broken body of the man they once knew as Jerry lying motionless at last.

It was the right thing to do, and they all know it. Still, he cannot quite control the trembling in his arm, the gun an unbearable weight in the palm of his hand now.

Dave and Tom stand there frozen in horror, looking at one another as if refusing to acknowledge what just happened. Eventually, Tom drops to his knees, choking down a sob as he reaches to shut those eyes that are now staring unseeingly into the terrifying vastness of the sky above.

“Give it to me, David,” Dave murmurs as soon as he finds his voice again, his touch surprisingly steady as he prises the firearm from his clenched fingers.

“He’s – okay, now,” he hears himself speak, his own voice sounding distorted, unfamiliar. His head is reeling with how frantically his brain is scrambling to forget everything he ever knew of Jerry as a person, so as to put as much distance as possible between himself and the cooling corpse burrowed down into the coarse black sand. It’s not his fault that the scavengers attacked them; he did the only reasonable thing given the circumstances, and there’s nothing to be said – or even felt – about it.

(Still, he lets Dave usher him back to the relative safety of their underground bunker, the last standing bulwark against the literal hellscape ever lurking at their doorstep. That night he stares long into the darkness closing down on him like a thick black shroud, wishes he was the one lying in the sand with a bullet through his head instead.)  


	3. Chapter 3

He counts to twenty-six, all the while reminding himself that he actually likes Dave, and then he forcibly removes the hands that are currently fisted into the front of his – formerly Jerry’s – sweatshirt.

“All right,” he says, taking a deep breath. “First of all, you never, ever touch me. Do I make myself clear?”

Dave struggles briefly, making a half-hearted attempt at freeing himself from his grasp; then he sort of wilts, leaving David to bear most of his weight for him, his face crumpling as if he’s about to start crying.

“Now, why don’t you have a little sit down?” he enunciates as calmly as he knows how, manoeuvring him into the nearest chair.

“You’re not the boss of us, David,” Dave protests somewhat weakly, his voice breaking into a sob. “You can’t tell us what to do.”

“I can, and I will. You two wouldn’t last a day without me.”

“At least we wouldn’t have to put up with – whatever it is that you’re trying to achieve here.”

He breathes in, then out, and elects to ignore this last remark. “You need to stop saying you’d rather be dead. It’s incredibly selfish of you.”

“Selfish? Me?” Dave laughs, but it sounds hollow, like he’s got nothing left, inside. “Pot, kettle, black,” he adds after a moment, his voice now flat, emotionless.

David resists the urge to shake him by the shoulders, but it’s a close thing. There must be something he can do or say make Dave to snap out of it – anything, so long as it produces the intended result.

Then an idea suddenly hits him, and if that’s what it takes, then he’s going to do it, and to hell with his own set of carefully constructed rules and boundaries. Dave looks as startled as he can manage in his current state, which is not very, and then their mouths are sliding against one another, their teeth clashing uncoordinatedly, as he effectively kisses him into submission.

When they break for air, Dave appears considerably less hysterical, and more than a little aroused. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, David shrugs, and lets himself be yanked somewhat awkwardly astride Dave’s lap; he’s still way taller than him this way, which is rather inconvenient for making out, but even this rapidly becomes irrelevant as they start grinding against one another.

“Fuck,” Dave groans, his face contorted in a complicate blend of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He’s now bracing himself with his hands on Dave’s shoulders, but he still finds his voice to breathe a warning into his ear. “I won’t if you won’t,” he says, and he knows they both know what he’s referring to, even as Dave gives him a curt nod by way of a pledge.

(He’s never used sex as a means to an end before, but all in all it does seem to be quite an effective method, and a mutually satisfactory one on top of that, too.)


End file.
